The Greatest of Sins

by Christine Merrill

  ‘You must get it from your mother, then,’ St Aldric said, with another groan. ‘Our father was taken with all manner of illnesses. And now, look at me.’

  ‘One disease is hardly a sign of a weak constitution,’ Sam reminded him, ‘and this is a common one. I am surprised you have not had it before.’

  ‘You would know better than I,’ St Aldric said. ‘All I was sure of is that I needed a doctor.’ He looked hopefully at Sam. ‘I know you have refused my offers of a place in my household. But would you be willing to treat me now?’

  ‘Of course,’ Sam said, surprised that the question would even arise. ‘You are in need of me.’

  ‘So it is the position I offered that you disliked and not me specifically,’ the duke said, his eyes narrowing in the puffy face. ‘I had begun to suspect it was otherwise.’

  ‘My feelings and the reasons behind them are not of importance at the moment,’ Sam said briskly, fumbling in his bag to be sure that he was well stocked in the necessary medications. ‘Do not trouble yourself about them. To me, you are no different than any other patient.’ He removed the tinctures of opium and belladonna and set them on the bedside table. ‘Right now, we must work to get you well and to prevent the spread of the disease to others in the household. Might you have any idea where you acquired the malady? How long have you been feeling poorly?’

  ‘Several days, at least,’ the duke muttered. ‘And I did visit the sick ward in the foundling hospital where I am a patron. Some of the children there were ill.’

  Sam all but snorted in disgust. If he had been called out of bed to treat any other duke, he would have found that the man had lain with a poxy whore, or was troubled by gout. But the Saint had got mumps from caring for orphaned children. It seemed that Sam could have no scrap of moral superiority, even in the privacy of his own mind.

  He took care not to be sarcastic when he answered. ‘That is the likely source. I can use the date to guess at the duration of the contagion. With luck, most of the household has already suffered through this. But to be safe, we will empty this floor and keep visits from servants to a minimum.’

  The duke touched his own cheek, feeling the lumps on either side. ‘I would just as soon stay out of sight, so as not to cause alarm.’

  Sam searched his swollen face for any sign of vanity, then concluded that the truth was no different from the words. The man did not want to cause fuss or bother by infecting others or frightening the maids. Humble as well as charitable. St Aldric was infinitely tedious in his virtue.

  ‘Think of it less as an absence of bother and more as a quarantine,’ Sam said firmly, reaching for the glass at the bedside and measuring drops of medicine from the two bottles into the water. ‘When Lord Thorne awakes I shall have him inform the rest of the house. And I will give you an opiate to help you sleep. I am sorry to say that the discomfort is likely to increase before it abates. But the belladonna should help with that. Meals for the next few days will be soft and rather bland.’

  The duke sighed. ‘The way I feel, I do not think I will care to eat them, so it will suit me well.’ He took the cup and drained it in one gulp and settled back into the pillows. ‘Send my apologies to Evelyn and to Lord Thorne for the inconvenience.’

  As if Thorne would care, as long as the duke was alive. He would deem it an honour to have the man under his roof for a fortnight, whatever his condition. ‘Of course, your Grace. I will visit you again in the morning.’ Unable to stop himself, he gave a respectful bow of his head, took up his candle again and then withdrew to leave the patient to sleep.

  Standing in the hall, Sam weighed his options. If it had been a normal patient, he’d have woken the housekeeper and left her the medicine and instructions to find him should conditions change. There was really little to do, other than to watch the man suffer through it and help him to deal with any consequences that the disease left behind.

  But this was no mere mortal. He was treating a duke. Even if it had not been the Saint, Sam would have insisted on staying in the house, so that he might meet the man’s every need. It would be a waste of his time. But it would be expected by all involved.

  And it was not just any duke. It was his own brother. As family, he was probably expected to worry. Sam could manage no feelings beyond concern that St Aldric would be in the same house as Evelyn for at least a fortnight. He would be in no mood for romance.

  But with her interest in medicine, Evie would be a dutiful nurse and very sympathetic. She would station herself at the bedside and treat him like an invalid. By the time St Aldric had healed, there would be no parting the two of them.

  It was no decision at all, really. Doctor Hastings must stay in residence, until the patient improved.

  Chapter Thirteen

  On her way down to breakfast, Eve paused to listen at the door of her father’s study. It was unusual to have him up and working at such an hour. And even more strange that there was a visitor involving him in heated conversation. It was stranger still that the visitor would be Sam.

  They were arguing. Please, do not let it be about me. The situation was difficult enough without dragging Father into it. She had not been able to stop thinking about Sam’s words in the carriage. Perhaps she did wish to continue her education after marriage. Her curiosity would not be so easy to kill as Michael thought. He would adjust in time to her ways. At least, she hoped he would. But either way, it did not mean that she wished to run away with Sam.

  It might, of course. But she wouldn’t want him bothering Father about it, until she had given the matter more thought. And with St Aldric still asleep in the guest room, they dare not try to settle anything today.

  She leaned close to the panel and caught snatches of conversation.

  ‘I simply think that it would be better to find another man for the job.’ Her father was reasonable, but cross.

  ‘I imagine you would. It makes you that uncomfortable, does it, to have me back in the house?’ Sam was truly angry and more sarcastic than she’d ever heard him.

  ‘Of course not,’ her father replied in a voice best described as uncomfortable.

  ‘Well, it should. Everything you told me was a lie. If you have any conscience at all, I hope it is bothering you.’

  ‘At the time, it seemed the easiest course.’

  ‘Easy?’ Sam was not just angry. He was irate. ‘You deserve to suffer some small bit of the torment I’ve known for the last six years. That you would allow me to believe—’

  No matter the current difficulties between them all, he had no right to speak to her father in such a way. Unable to contain herself, Eve burst through the door. ‘Sam!’ She was angry at herself as well, for ever wanting to return to him. He had known of his true parentage for less than a week and the man she thought she’d known had become a spiteful, ungrateful whelp to the man who’d raised him. ‘Cease this arguing immediately. It can be heard in the hall.’

  ‘What? What have you heard?’ Her father went white.

  She turned to Sam, who was clearly the one at fault. ‘I am shocked, Dr Hastings, that you would come here, before we have even breakfasted, to make a row about things that happened years ago.’

  The two men glanced at each other in silence. Then Sam said, in a more moderate tone, ‘I did not come here of my own volition. I was summoned.’

  ‘By whom?’ She laughed. ‘I did not call you, if that is what you have been claiming.’

  Her father stood and came around the desk to take her by the hand. ‘It was the duke, Evelyn. His condition has worsened. He did not want to wake us and sent for the doctor.’

  ‘Ill?’ A hundred possibilities flashed through her mind. And the most unworthy one shouted the loudest. If he dies, I will not have to choose.

  It was horrid of her. The choice had already been made and she was happy with it. Michael was a wonderful man. A saint. What sort of woman was she, to even consider his death?

  ‘You needn’t worry,’ Sam said. ‘He will recover.’ His v
oice was soothing. It was his doctor voice, she was sure, meant to keep the family from worry.

  ‘If there is anything I can do, any medicine I can send for, other physicians who specialise …’ Her father was not calmed at all by it.

  ‘As I told you before, Lord Thorne, I am quite capable of dealing with a case of mumps in my own brother.’ So this was what had upset Sam. Her father had questioned his skill. But at least he had acknowledged that the duke was kin.

  ‘It will be fine, Father,’ Eve said. But she felt not so much calm, as numb. ‘Sam is right. He can handle this easily. And Michael asked specifically for him.’ That was a good sign, wasn’t it? At least the two of them were not at odds.

  ‘Very well, then,’ Thorne responded, still sounding frosty. ‘You are here in my house again at the request of the duke and there is nothing I can do about it. What do you prescribe, Dr Hastings?’

  ‘Keep the curtains drawn and the staff away from him. There is no one on that floor of the house, is there?’

  ‘We have no other guests,’ said her father.

  ‘Then send Tom to the inn for my chest and some fresh linen. I will occupy one of the empty rooms, since I have no fear of contagion. But I recommend you keep your distance, Lord Thorne, just as you did when Evelyn and I suffered through this as children. If you cannot specifically remember having this illness as a child, you must not come in contact with the infected.’

  ‘But surely, a duke …’ Her father was shaking his head in amazement, as though he believed that there was something about a peerage that should render one impervious to the ills of lesser men.

  ‘Sam is right. You needn’t worry, Father. I will stay with the pair of them, night and day, to make sure their needs are met.’ Both men started at her offer, as though she was not capable of helping.

  ‘That will hardly be necessary,’ Thorne said.

  ‘I agree with your father,’ Sam said hurriedly.

  ‘There is no risk to me, Sam,’ she reminded him. ‘As you just reminded Father, I had the disease as a child, same as you. And, Father, I would do the same for any other guest that fell ill under our roof.’

  ‘But, Evie,’ Sam said, using the calm voice again, ‘your presence will not heal him any faster.’

  ‘He is my betrothed,’ Eve said, using the same calming tones that he was using on her. ‘And he needs me.’ After their last conversation, she was sure Sam did not want to hear that. But it was the truth. Even if it might change in the future, she would not argue it out in front of her father. Nor could she abandon Michael as he lay ill.

  Thorne was looking at Sam now, leaving the decision to him. He was clearly against the idea, but did not want to be the one responsible for refusing her.

  And Sam just looked tired. Of course, he had been up in the middle of the night to care for Michael. Perhaps it had nothing to do with her. ‘She will take no harm in staying with him. And it is better than having a series of maids trailing in and out of the room, cutting up the peace. Having her at his side might steady him and alleviate some of the discomfort.’

  ‘But it is hardly proper,’ her father argued.

  ‘Oh, please, Father. Michael is in no condition to compromise me.’ It occurred to her that Sam was another matter entirely. But surely he would not trouble her in her own home with her future husband just down the hall. She put her doubts aside. ‘You know I will be a help, for this is hardly different from what I accomplish when we are in the country.’

  ‘That is with women and children,’ her father said, aghast. ‘St Aldric is a grown man.’

  Sam cleared his throat to indicate the delicacy of the subject. ‘I will tend the more personal needs of the patient myself. There is no dishonour in tending the ill.’

  ‘Very well, then,’ Thorne said with a sigh. ‘You have my permission, Evelyn.’

  As if his permission had been what she was requesting. She would do it with or without their consent. But if it made him feel better to think he could control her, so be it.

  ‘She will be of aid to me,’ Sam affirmed. ‘And we will limit his contact with other, more susceptible members of the household, by caring for him ourselves. We will also limit gossip, for I doubt he will wish to be seen by others in his current condition.’

  ‘This is true,’ her father said, obviously encouraged. ‘It is better to keep such things in the family and away from prying eyes.’

  ‘Then it is settled,’ Evelyn said with a smile. ‘I shall tell Mrs Abbott to close off the third floor until such time as Sam deems it safe. Meals may be brought to the head of the stairs and I will see to it that they are eaten. A maid can come in once a day to change the linen and that will be that.’

  Now her father was nodding along with the scheme, as though he had thought of it himself. And perhaps, at the end of it, she would have proved to Michael that her use in a sick room was far more important a pastime than remaining quiet in the dining room.

  Once Evie had gone to make arrangements for the sick ward, Sam had no desire to continue the conversation he’d been having with Lord Thorne. His efforts to remain calm while notifying the man of his sick guest had quickly degenerated into a shouting match. It had been all he could do to be polite before he’d learned the truth of his parentage, but now he could not stand the man. If Evie had arrived a moment later, she’d have heard him bring forth every sordid detail of his parting, for he’d meant to confront Thorne with the effects of his casual lies and make him see what they had done to his daughter’s happiness. With a warning glare to let the man know their business was not finished, he left to pay another visit to his patient.

  St Aldric’s condition had worsened since the previous evening. The swelling of the jaw was more pronounced as the duke stirred in his sleep in obvious discomfort. In his mind Sam ticked through the more extreme complications and prayed that he would not see them. Deafness and sterility were not uncommon. And despite what he had told the Thornes, rare cases turned fatal. Although he had no desire to be personal physician to the man, neither did he want to be the one responsible for the death of a peer.

  But some things were inevitable.

  He examined the thought, rejected it and examined it again. Nature would have its way, no matter what he attempted. But if he helped it along? No one would be the wiser. He had already dispensed with the witnesses who might question him, in the name of quarantine. An incorrect dosage of many of the medicines in his bag would be more weakening than strengthening. A bleeding, taken too far, was no different than a war wound. A knick in an artery would have the life of the patient drained away before the flow could be staunched.

  If the duke died, Evie was no longer betrothed. After a period of mourning, she would be free to do as she wished. Thorne could not stop them. The only reason he’d found to separate them had been revealed as a lie. If he tried to find another objection, Sam would counter it. Or he could threaten to reveal the truth. What would the man do to keep Evie from learning that the father she worshipped and adored would stoop so low?

  Murder and blackmail both. He sat in the chair at the side of the bed, horrified at his own thoughts. He had thought for ages that his love for Evie was some sort of spiritual disease. But it had been innocent, compared to his current state of mind.

  Perhaps he was the one who needed treatment. Or perhaps this was what true temptation felt like, when one had the means at hand to do true evil. He had but to disregard the oath he had taken to do no intentional harm and take a life.

  It was beneath unworthy. He looked again at the prone figure, the swollen jaw and the shadows under eyes. The man was suffering already and would likely suffer more. It was his job to help. And as he had argued in Thorne’s office, this was not merely a peer, this man was his brother.

  His blood. He stared at the sleeping face and the strange similarities to his own. Suppose it had been he lying there and St Aldric holding the poison bottle. He’d have nothing to fear. The man was a saint.

  Or so it appe
ared. In his darkest hour, no living man was capable of the purity ascribed to St Aldric. But his ability to behave admirably, in words and actions, was the very opposite of Thorne. His pretended father had been willing to stoop to unimagined depths when provoked. If Sam was to be forced into a different family, there was comfort in knowing that it might be one where truth and honour had value.

  But to accept the bond was to accept the duty. To be worthy of it, he should not meet honesty with deceit. Not today, perhaps. But when the patient was recovered, there would be a difficult but necessary discussion about the future of Lady Evelyn Thorne. ‘Pax,’ he whispered, laying a hand on St Aldric’s forehead.

  Still hot. Perhaps a cool drink should accompany the next round of laudanum.

  In response, the duke stirred and opened his eyes. He winced as though the light hurt him and touched his cheek with his hand, only to pull back in pain. When on a sickbed, a peer looked like any other patient. He was frightened and alone, though he did a decent job of hiding the fact. Stripped to his nightshirt and flat on his back, he looked smaller than he had in the study. Sam did his best to ignore the fact. It was no consolation to be the taller man, if this was the only way it could be achieved.

  ‘I hoped it had been a dream,’ St Aldric said, in a scratchy voice.

  ‘I am sorry, but, no.’

  ‘Is there anything more that can be done?’ He was not irritable. He was stoic in the face of the illness, neither blaming God nor the doctor, as some of his patients had been prone to do.

  ‘Ice for the fever,’ Sam said simply. ‘A poultice for the swelling, or perhaps a good bleeding.’

  The duke winced again.

  ‘Laudanum and belladonna for the pain. You would not want a bolus, I assure you. Your throat will be too raw to take it easily. No strong spirits without my permission. Later, I will allow a draught of negus. For the most part, this is a thing to be borne and not cured. It will pass. In a week you will be better. But you will be in bed for two.’

  The duke settled back into the pillows. ‘There will be no lasting effects?’